The Austen Influence
by cactusnell
Summary: Sherlock is bored and bothering Molly in her lab, so she recommends he read a book. Best thing she ever did! Sherlolly


Sherlock Holmes was bored, and when the detective was bored, Dr. Molly Hooper knew, anything could happen. So she was currently trying to keep him occupied while simultaneously carving up the chest of a middle-aged waitress from Stepney.

"Sherlock, for god's sake, take the toes and leave me to my work, okay? I've got two more autopsies to perform, and some tissue to culture. I'm really busy today!"

"Do you have a diseased liver?"

"No, Sherlock, but I will if you drive me to drink!"

"Very funny, Molly. I see your sense of humor hasn't improved," he grimaced at the pathologist. "How about a kidney or two? A spleen?"

"Nothing in the fridge that would interest you, Sherlock. Why don't you try reading a book?" She spoke with not some small amount of exasperation.

"I'm always reading, Molly. Professional journals, newspapers, theses,..." Sherlock's shoulders slumped in boredom.

"Why don't you try something with a plot for a change? When was the last time you read a novel, Sherlock?"

"Waste of time, Dr. Hooper. Novels are about people, not things, not science…"

"And they deal with sentiment, emotions, uncomfortable situations…"

"As I said, a waste of time!" The detective was getting more adamant. "Why would that interest me?"

"Simply because they are the areas in which you need further education, Sherlock Holmes. You've said you're bored, so go read a novel and learn something!"

Sherlock couldn't deny the fact that Molly had made a valid point when she had indicated that his education was, indeed, sorely lacking in some areas. Not that he would admit that to her. So he said, a bit grudgingly, "Do you have a suggestion, Molly?"

"About what?"

"Do keep up, Dr. Hooper. Do you have a suggestion as to a novel I should read in order to educate myself about sentiment, human interactions, etc?"

"Well," Molly said thoughtfully, "my all-time favorite is 'Pride and Prejudice' by Jane Austen. It's got everything. Love, romance, greed, family, society…"

"Yes, yes, I have heard of it, Molly. I am not completely uneducated," Sherlock hmpffed in her direction. "Although what a novel set at the turn of the nineteenth century could teach me about modern…"

"The basics never change, Sherlock. Only the costumes. And the hairstyles. And modes of transportation, and some societal mores…"

"Yes, well. I may just be bored enough to try it sometime."

"You're bored enough now, you git. And you need to get out of my lab and leave me in peace to do my work!" Molly looked almost angry enough to throw something, and since the only thing she had in her hand was a rather sharp scalpel. Sherlock thought it best to beat a hasty retreat. He almost missed Molly muttering, "Just stay away from 'Fifty Shades of Gray', for heaven's sake!"

The following afternoon, the detective was sitting in his chair, once again perusing his newly acquired copy of "Pride and Prejudice", when his best friend, John Watson, fresh from a day at the clinic, joined him. Sherlock barely registered his presence until he spoke. "Mind palace again?"

"Not at all. Merely thinking," Sherlock responded. "Would you like a cup of tea, John?"

"Yes, Sherlock, that would be lovely," John answered, surprised at the offer.

"Good! Could you make me one as well?"

John, rolling his eyes, moved into the kitchen, and went about preparing their tea. He was then surprised by his friend's next question. "John, have you ever read this 'Pride and Prejudice' nonsense?"

Not missing a beat, John answered, "Sherlock, I am willing to bet that thousands of literature professors from time immemorial would beg to differ."

"Surely not time immemorial, John, since it was published in 1813." Sherlock sighed as he made his point. "But that is neither here nor there. I have been sitting here forever contemplating the opening lines…"

"Refresh my memory…"

The detective quoted from memory. " 'It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.' " He then rose from his chair to join John in the kitchen. "Oddly, I find myself considering the possibility that this is true."

"You, Sherlock? Really?"

"Yes, John, me. Is that so surprising? Let me ask you a question. Are you happy?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're married to a former hitwoman who shot your best friend. And yet, I perceive, you are a happy man."

"Yes, mate, I guess I am…"

"And my parents are happy. Sickeningly happy, it would seem. Despite the fact that their union has produced two of the most unlikeable specimens to grace the British Isles!" He chuckled a bit at his last remark, possibly secretly proud of the distinction. "And Lestrade seems to be periodically happy, at least at the times when he reconciles with his wife. It just seems a shame that his periods of happiness coincide with her periods of unhappiness! Mike Stamford seems happy, considering the amount of time he spends smiling and begetting children."

"Have you considered Mrs. Hudson? She seems happily unmarried."

"Mrs. H. was married to a homicidal drug dealer. But even she has spoken of some blissful times with said psychopath. And she certainly hasn't given up her pursuit of happiness, if the butcher, the shopkeeper, and the UPS delivery man are any indication!"

John chuckled into his tea before he asked, rather seriously, "And so, you're considering whether you are in need of a wife, or a …"

"A wife, John. Bloody hell, you've known me for years. You've even lived with me! How could…"

"We've never discussed the subject, Sherlock. I really don't know if you're straight, or gay, or anything! I guess I kind of assumed you were a bit, uh, asexual."

"John, I know you've searched my room looking for drugs on myriad occasions. You must have found the Playboy magazines under the mattress, unless you are a very poor searcher indeed. Did you think I bought them for the articles?"

"Well, some people do."

"Believe me when I tell you this, John, but no they don't. The only time a man reads an article in that magazine is when he's exhausted himself with other activities triggered by perusing the more colorful pictorials…"

"I get your point, mate! So, why a wife? Why not just a girlfriend…" John stopped when he noticed his friend wince at the term, "girlfriend".

"John, do you realize that, statistically speaking, married men outlive single men. They tend to be healthier. Also, they have companionship, a helpmate…"

"Does anyone call them a 'helpmate' anymore, Sherlock?"

"In addition, there is, of course, the advantage of having a regular sex partner, free of STD's , at least in a mutually monogamous relationship. There is the satisfaction of conceiving children, and raising them to be valuable members of society…"

"Children, Sherlock? Now you're talking children? You read one novel, and this is what happens! You've turned into bloody Mr. Darcy!" John was now shaking his head in disbelief, and chuckling a bit at his best friend's newfound romantic side. Or what he perceived to pass for romance in Sherlock's mind. "So, when do you start your campaign to find this prospective 'helpmate', Sherlock?"

"What makes you think I haven't already found her, John? The only thing left is to propose, which I intend to do this very day." Sherlock spoke with such conviction, that John almost dropped his mug of tea. Barely noticing, Sherlock continued. "I must be on my way very soon, by the way. Mycroft has my grandmother's ring in his safe, and I must stop to pick it up. I want to catch her before she leaves…"

"WHO?", John bellowed. "Who the hell are you talking about?"

Sherlock looked truly puzzled as he answered, "Molly, of course. Who else?"

John looked as stunned as Sherlock looked puzzled. "Molly? Molly Hooper? Our Molly?"

"I would thank you to take care with the use of that possessive adjective in the future, John. She is not 'our' Molly. She is most definitely 'my' Molly. Or will be as soon as I can get to St. Bart's." The detective then rose from his seat at the kitchen table, and started to dress for outdoors, but was stopped by John's voice.

"Wait, Sherlock. Just a moment, please." The doctor hurried to join his best friend at the door of the flat. "You're sure about this? Absolutely sure?"

"Of course, John. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Look, Sherlock, you're not good at these things, you know. You can't go in there and ask a woman to marry you because you'll live longer, provide companionship, have lots of sex without danger of sexually transmitted disease, and raise adorable little sociopaths, you know!"

"Of course not, John!"

"Then what are you going to say, Sherlock. You'd better think about it."

"I don't have to think about it. I'm simply going to look her in the eye, tell her I love her more than anything in this world, more than I ever thought was possible. I'll tell her she will make me very happy, and that I will try my best to return the favor. That I know I don't deserve her, but if she's willing to overlook that, I will try to deserve her in the future. And then I will ask her to marry me." Sherlock heaved a large sigh, as if glad to get a great weight off his chest. "Do you think she'll say 'yes', John?"

"Bloody hell, mate, I was ready to say 'yes'!" John suppressed a small chuckle as he spoke. "Just don't…"

"I'm won't be lying to her, John." Sherlock seemed to read his thoughts "Every word is the truth. All I have to do is convince her." The detective smiled a bit uncertainly, and turned to hurry down the stairs toward the front door and out onto Baker Street in search of a cab.

John Watson watched him go, sending him off almost as a father would send a child off to their first dance. But this was far more life-changing than that. This was epic. Sherlock "I consider myself married to my work" Holmes was about to commit bigamy with the woman who had loved him, unrequited, everyone had assumed, for years. Paraphrasing Sherlock himself, John thought, _you always miss something!_ He could only assume that Molly Hooper, prospective bride, would be almost as surprised.. Well, if her heart were to stop due to shock, it couldn't happen in a better place than one of the city of London's most prestigious hospitals. And Sherlock did know CPR, after all. He, himself, had seen to that.

John put on his own outerwear, and started down the staircase to go home and give the rather surprising news to his wife, Mary. As he reached the bottom of the staircase, Mrs. Hudson poked her head out of her flat. "Is everything alright, John? I thought I heard Sherlock leave in such as rush!"

"Everything's fine, Mrs. Hudson! More than fine, actually." He had his hand on the doorknob, but turned to give the landlady a small bit of advice. "If I were you, Mrs. H., I'd have the smelling salts handy when Sherlock arrives home. And the herbal soothers. You may find you need them! Goodbye." And with that, John Watson stepped out onto Baker Street, already beginning to compose his best man's speech in his head. Ah, revenge is sweet!


End file.
